My father warned me just after Kenzie was born that now that I had a child of my own, time would fly by - and it has.

On Sunday, Mackenzie will turn sixteen.   Even with the warning, the years have flown by faster than I thought possible.

In the past few weeks my heart has been flooded with memories.  In my minds eye I can see a little girl, skin speckled with mosquito bites making mud pies in the backyard.  Kenzie always had dirt under her fingernails, and her had was forever a tangled mass.  I remember brushing hair, the back so curly and fine that it was impossible to get the tangles out without hurting her - and I tried so hard not to hurt her. 

I also remember how cautious she was when she attempted a new skill, like her first time crossing the street by herself.  We had given her instructions to make sure she looked both directions.  Kenzie looked to the left, she looked to the right - no cars, she looked to the left, she looked to the right - no cars she did this over and over until she was confident that it was safe to cross.  And then a car passed by.  So she had to start the process all over again.  The poor thing stood on that corner a long time that day.  But she didn't give up, she didn't ask for help.

Another time Kenzie showed determination was when she taught herself to ride a bike.  At seven, John and I could see that she was no where near ready for the training wheels to come off, she just didn't have the balance.  But when she asked her Dad to take off her training wheels, John decided to give her a chance.  Kenzie tried for weeks to get the hang of it.  Over and over she would peddle a few strokes, then loose her balance and have to steady herself with her feet.  The neighbourhood all watched her try and fail, try and fail.  One neighbour came to me and suggested that we just put the wheels back on.  I didn't want to do that to her.  Because even though it was hard, she wasn't giving up and I wasn't about to give up on her either.  When she eventually did ride, I couldn't have been prouder.  It didn't come easy for her and she didn't give up.

Witnessing my daughter grow up has been one of the great gifts in my life.  Kenzie has a strength that I admire.  Because of her I want to be a better woman myself.   

Sixteen.  It's a big year.  She has been studying her driver's handbook, and has her first job.  At sixteen, she could meet the love of her life (I did) or have her heart broken for the first time.  This week, she brought home paper work for a SHSM (Specialized High School Major) in Health and Wellness.  Kenzie is planning long term goals that aren't so long term anymore.  I feel like she is on the cusp of something great and this will be the year she will soar.

I think that Kenzie believes this herself.  She has choosen One Little Word for 2012 as well.  FORWARD.  Seems appropiate.

Happy Birthday Kiddo, love you. xoxo

One Little Word::Easy

One Little Word is a class I'm taken over at Big Picture Classes taught by Ali Edwards.  The  concept of One Little Word is that you choose a word to embody how wish live your year.

Last year for my one little word, I choose THRIVE.  Thriving taught me lessons and pushed me to grow into parts of myself I didn't know existed.  But after a year of flourishing and developing vigorously, I'm exhausted.

When I began to think about what word I would want for 2012, I joked that I wanted an easy year.  Would easy be such a bad word?  Easy has so many negative associations but the more I thought about it the more EASY started to make sense to me.  From the Gage Canadian Dictionary:

Easy - {ee-zee} adjective
1. requiring little effort.
2. free from pain, discomfort, trouble or worry: an easy life.
3. giving comfort or rest: easy chair.
4. fond of comfort or rest; lazy.
5. not harsh, not severe: easy terms.
6. not hard to influence, ready to agree with or help. Choose whichever one you wish, I'm easy.
7. smooth and pleasant; not awkward: easy manners.
8. not tight loose: an easy fit.
9. not fast, slow: an easy pace.
10. promiscuous
11. of a money market, favorable to borrowers.

I'm sure my husband wouldn't mind easy meaning promiscuous. 
But easy could mean so much more for me.   
Easy means letting go of the struggle.  Easy means that I don't define myself with my struggles.  Easy means acceptance, peace and joy.  Easy means rest and reflection.  Easy means laughter.  Easy means finding answers to problems not dwelling on problems.  Easy means freedom.

I'm ready for easy.

Happy Birthday Grandma.

 My daughter and I were chatting the other day about how often you should brush your hair. We both agreed that even though it's not recommended brushing 100 strokes a day, it just feels so good.  I was reminded of a time where my hair was brushed over and over again.

I remember sitting on my grandparents front porch.  It was coffee break on the last day of my week long stay with Grandma and Grandpa. I sipped my lemonade from the orange plastic tumbler, while she and Grandpa drank their coffees.  I sat one step down, between my grandmother's legs, while she brushed my hair dry in the summer sun.  I didn't have what you would call pretty hair.  My hair was wavy and coarse, a mousy shade of brown.  To top it off, literally, I had a double crown, so it looked like I had a small squirrel on top of my head.  Anyways, that day sitting in the sun, sipping lemonade, with Grandma, I felt pretty.  I don't know if I have ever felt more loved. 

I think about Grandma a lot but especially at this time of year.  Yesterday would have been her 88th birthday, but that's not why autumn reminds me of her.  Fall was Grandma's favourite season.  Thinking of the fall, without thinking of Grandma would be like fall with out the brilliant colours, or fall without the crisp cool temperatures.

With apologies to all the rock stars in my life - my husband, my parents, my children, my best girl friends, I am going on record as saying my maternal Grandmother is my all time favourite person.  If you met her, you'd know why.

She was born Angelina Tibando.  Being of Italian descent during a war where Italy was your enemy, couldn't have been easy.  Not one to hang her head in shame, Grandma signed up to help the war effort.  It was her army girlfriends who renamed her Cora - but I'm not sure why.  The army was where my grandparents met. Grandma had slipped and fallen into a mud puddle, and Grandpa helped her up.  They were married six weeks later.  

When I think of what love looks like, I think of my grandparents.  They loved each other beyond words.  You could feel their love when you were in the room with them.  When Grandpa died, Grandma slipped their love letters in his front pocket.  "Grandma," I said to her, "Why are you sending them with Grandpa?  Don't you want to read them?"  No, she wanted to send them with Grandpa, that way when she's gone, none of us would be able to snoop. I assumed that the letters were filled with cute little I love yous, but the way Grandma blushed told me I was wrong.

The other thing I remember about Grandpa's funeral, is that Grandma asked us not to wear black.  She herself wore a yellow dress, the exact same shade as a Black Eyed Susan.  Grandma was sad, but strong.  I knew that she would miss my grandfather, but I also knew that she was going to be okay.

Of course she would be okay. She wasn't about to sit around and wait to die.  Seriously, this is what she said to me when I remarked one visit that I thought it was neat that she was trying to root a rose she had been given.

I don't usually remember Grandma with sadness.  I miss her, but I know she would want us to remember her in her yellow dress, laughing, trying new things and exploring her world.  

me and my pet squirrel.

grandma and I at the "falls"

a love beyond words.

Five Years.

I got off my bike and looked out at the vacant picnic area.  

A family should be here, enjoying the last days of summer, laughing, playing, making memories.

Once upon a time it was our family that would have been here. Once upon a time. When we were whole.  This weekend marked the fifth anniversary of my mother in laws passing. 

There could have been 100 families here, it wouldn't have made a difference to how I felt- Empty and hollow, missing her so much.

Because my daughter misses the sound of her slippers scuffing across the floor.  Because amid the clutter on my teenage son's dresser is a picture of his Grandma.  Because a little boy holds on to the memory of a Grandmother who would give him treats in a Ziploc baggie each time he left her house.  Because another little boy doesn't remember her at all.  Because Charlie sleeps with the Bunny she gave him for Easter.  Because her grandchildren have missed out on one of life's great treasures, but holding on to the few memories they have as tight as Charlie hangs on to Mr. Bunny.

Because Because Ray is now a widower.  Trying to fit into a world of couples.  Because he goes to the cemetery on Sunday mornings.  Because he's alone.


Because her kids had to grow up in an instant.  Because living without your mom, your cheerleader, your guide and compass is hard.  Because time makes it easier, and then it hits you just how long it's been since she called your name or you heard the sound of her laughter. 

 Looking at where we once played, I felt so alone, and missed her so much.  

The Runaway Road

In 1980, my mom signed me up for the book of the month club.  I was part of a club - the Book Club.  I felt privileged.  I had bragging rights that a younger sister doesn't often get.  I was a brat.  But could you blame me -I was just so excited to get my books in the mail. The fact that they were hardcovers made them all the more special. 

Sadly, I was never really a book of the month club member.  Mom must have signed me up for the free, no obligation trial offer.  Two books were all I ever got to read. I remember the outrage when a third book came in the mail. 
"I bet they think that the books come and you will feel you have to keep them when your kid sees them.  That's what they are counting on."  Mom said to one of her friends on the phone, "Well, that's too bad, because it's going back!"   I thought she was all talk.  I believed that she would at least let me keep the third book, and cancel after that.  Nope, true to her word the mystery book was returned.  The third book was never taken out of the packaging.   

But it's the second book that I've been thinking about.  The second book I received in the mail was The Runaway Road, by Stan Mack.  The story is about the Puddle Family who are packed up and ready to go on their annual vacation to the mountains.  Just as the Puddles began their journey, the road had other plans.  Instead the road runs away and takes them in a new direction.  The road, who was  sick of the mountains, decides it wants go to the beach.  Metaphorically teaching The Puddles that life doesn't always goes as planned, sometimes even the deepest engraved routines change with life's winding road. 

I can relate to the Puddle family, change is constant.  And I can also relate to the road.

Just like the road in the story, I ran away this weekend.  I made the list, packed the clothes, the toiletries, the first aid kit, the grocerys.  I planned the meals and prepared dinners and salads, then I made a bee line out of town. 

I ran away because in order refuel for life, I needed to separate from it.  I left behind the distractions  - the drama, Gramma's half empty messy apartment, the uncertainty of what September will bring.   I left it all behind and found peace.  When we returned Sunday afternoon I could breathe again.  Ready to handle whatever changes the road may bring.

a letter to my mother

This post is an excerpt from the love letter I gave my mom on her birthday:

Dear Mom, Today as we celebrate you I wanted to let you know how important you are in my life. Happy Birthday. Just like it is hard for me to believe that my kids are growing up, it's hard for me to believe that you have reached this milestone. You have traveled sixty five times around the sun, and with each passing you have learned a little bit more about yourself, with each time around you have grown more beautiful.

There are so many moments in my life where I felt your love and pride. Moments where you made me feel like I was the most important person in the world. And today, I am wondering did I leave you with the same feeling? Do you know how much I love you, how proud I am of you?

I am proud that you let your emotions flow so freely. I am proud that you are the kind of lady who  laughs so hard she pees her pants.  When something sad touches your heart, you cry just as easily.  You live out loud.  Experiencing your life to its fullest.   

I admire how courageously adapted to the stages of your life.  Whether the changes of your life were new and exciting or challenging and difficult, you have met them with an open heart.  Always remaining optimistic about what the future may hold.

I am thirty seven years old.  An adult.  Gone is the mouthy child who thought she knew it all.  In her place stands a woman who still looks to her mother as a compass when making decisions.  A sail when she needs encouragement.  And an anchor when she needs comfort and stability.  Thank-you for these gifts.    I love you so much, xoxo.





Summer's Growth

Summer is the space between springs promise and fall's bounty.  Summer is the season to grow.

 

As a child I often suffered terrible growing pains in my legs, the kind that would wake you up from sleep.  My mother would give me a baby aspirin and tuck me back into bed.  I would whimper in my bed as I waited for the medicine to work.  This would wake my older sister.  She would get up and wrap my legs in the afghan that Aunt Marg knit.  As long as I could remember the people who loved and cared for me always helped me with my growing pains.

I have experienced so much growth this year.  It's not surprising.  My one little word for 2011 was thrive:

(1) to make steady progress; prosper. 

(2) to grow vigorously; flourish

Maybe I didn't think my word all the way through.  Growth often uncomfortable.  And while a baby aspirin and my legs lovingly wrapped in a blanket isn't going to help my growing pains, it is still my family that I am look to for comfort and encouragement.

When I was editing my pictures, putting together the collages for this post, I felt overwhelming feeling of love and pride.  Seeing us camping, at the beach or just hanging out together, I know that John and I have built a strong foundation.  A strong base that will support all of us as we grow and thrive.